


Omegahood

by LittleSpacePrince



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Murder Husbands, Omega Will Graham, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Pregnant Will Graham, so much fluffier than anything else i write wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpacePrince/pseuds/LittleSpacePrince
Summary: Who knew omegahood would fit Will Graham so nicely...





	Omegahood

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this lovely fanart](https://nephila-clavipes.tumblr.com/post/170204785689/who-knew-that-omegahood-would-fit-will-graham-so) by [this lovely person.](https://nephila-clavipes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Link to Spotify playlist.

These mornings always burned like hell. 

They really were the worst part of the whole ordeal. He could handle the rest - hell, he could take pleasure in it, even. Pleasure during heat wasn’t exactly a difficult task to accomplish, anyway. There were days when he well and truly looked forward to this time. But the mornings when it happened, the heat rising in his body, the sweat perking up from his flesh, the fever burning up inside his head… These burned like fire. 

It reminded him too much of childhood, before he’d had an alpha to service him through it. It reminded him of days when there had been no relief from the heat boiling inside of him, no break in the fever. 

He’d stuck to the pill for nearly twenty years, stopping his heat before it ever even started. Every day for nearly twenty years, without failure or falter, he had gotten up and taken his pill at precisely six every morning. Anything to avoid the internal nuclear meltdown that always came alongside heat. The sweat soaked through the sheets, and the slick never failed to ruin whatever he had gone to bed in the night before... Fake knots never satisfied, and he never quite liked being confined to his bedroom for nearly a week out of every month. Grinding down on plastic knots, desperate for friction, greeted with nothing but averted eyes from a father incapable of understanding whenever he did manage to make it out of the room… He had hated it. 

So he started on the pill, and started passing for something other than what he really was. He hid as a beta, and no one seemed to notice anything to the contrary. No one, of course, except for Hannibal fucking Lecter. 

Of course, Hannibal had known from the beginning. Could smell it on him, however faintly, had noticed during their first meeting. Still, he spoke little of it, allowed for Will to bring it up during one of their many conversations. Will had noticed the hungry look in his eye, though, noticed the way that Hannibal lusted after him, longed for something more with him than simply conversation.

Even after their fall, even after they started having sex on a regular basis, he could feel the longing in his alpha’s bones, aching for something more primal than what was being offered. There was always a glimmer of disappointment in the morning, caught from the corner of his eye as he swallowed his pill dry. Hannibal, after all, always was one for the surrender to his own primal desires, his own carnal nature. Suppression of such biological impulses seemed a great disappointment. 

It took nearly two years after their fall for Will to agree to come off the pills. Solely for the purpose of mating, Will said, to solidify their bond in scars across their necks, and then he would go right back on. He only changed his mind afterward, finding that he quite liked the devolution that accompanied it. The fever didn’t sting so badly with his alpha, and what aches did accompany it were made worth it by the pleasure provided. Freed of inhibitions and duties for a week, bound to nothing but Hannibal and their bed, with sex driving most of their waking moments… It was something that he could handle. 

It took two more years to convince him to try this, though. 

The first conversations had come in the weeks after he went off of the pill, but Will had brushed it off, declined flat out. The topic went unmentioned outside of the fog of heat sex, when occasional mentions were made in the form of dirty talk, but they were shallow promises. It was another year before Hannibal mentioned it again, and Will’s mind paid it more consideration this time, but decided that he wasn’t quite ready even still. And so Hannibal brought it up a month later, and the month after that, for six months, before dropping it altogether. 

The last conversation had come nearly three weeks ago, a few days after his last heat. It was Will who brought it to the table, after a routine trip out to town, where Will caught him looking. It was a quick glance, something sad in those eyes before turning back toward Will. Hannibal had looked at a family - an alpha, his omega, and their son - with longing eyes that sent a pang of guilt into Will’s chest. Guilt, and a longing of his own. 

There was some part of him that had wanted it just as badly. Some part of him that always had. Some part of him had always ached for a family, for a second chance at one, no matter how desperately he clung to his denial. He had opted for the sacrifice of that part of him in the fall, decided that such reckless things as procreation were unwise. But in the moment when he caught Hannibal looking, longing, all reservations left him. Will wanted it just as badly as he did, and there was no more denying it. 

And so Will mentioned it, and finally agreed. 

And now he woke in the way he always woke this time of the month. Sweat poured from every pore, thighs drenched with slick, the sheets clinging to his skin as he pulled himself upright, hands pulling down his face. There was a nagging pull between his legs, cock hard and hole demanding it be filled. He was hot, and he was sweaty, and he was uncomfortable, and he wanted it to be over with already. This was always the worst part of it. 

“Han!” he called. Hannibal always woke up first. Always made breakfast at the crack of fucking dawn. But breakfast was gonna have to go cold today. “I started!” 

The sound of his feet pounding against the hardwood floors was almost comical, running so quickly that it seemed almost unbecoming of a man so dedicated to his composure. It was enough to draw a small smile from his lips, even through his fevered discomfort. His eyes turned to the door as Hannibal swung himself through the door, hardly maintaining any semblance of composure and grace that he typically carried himself with. There were more important things than appearances this morning, so it seemed. 

“Inside me,” Will said, without preamble or hesitation. There was no time for their typical teasing, no time for the two hours of foreplay that Hannibal occasionally insisted upon. His heat was suffocating, and he needed his alpha’s knot. He wanted it. He needed it. He ached for it. “Now.”

Hannibal tore off his robe in one fluid movement before tossing it aside, crawling onto the bed to meet him. He must have smelled it on him the night before, must have known that this would be how he would wake up, having known better than to wear anything that couldn’t be torn off in an instant. The heat gathering in the air between them burned with even hotter intensity than it usually did, neither of them having the patience to hold even a moment’s hesitation this time. This time was different. 

This time, Hannibal was going to get him pregnant. 

Will parted his thighs as Hannibal fell between them, claiming his lips hard and rough as his hands dug beneath his hips, angling them upward. It was almost clinical in the way he demanded Will’s body move, demanding it bend to his will, knowing the best position for breeding and conception. 

“No condom?” Hannibal confirmed, voice softer than it should have been, stark contrast from the hands that manhandled him so roughly. Will let out a soft breath, shuddered, and nodded. 

“No condom.” 

His words unleashed something wild, something feral, something hungry within him. Will let out a sharp gasp as Hannibal forced his legs up, pinning his knees to the bed near his head, bending him damn near in half, a dull ache spreading in through his hips and torso. The pain wasn’t sharp enough for Will to demand he stop, but just enough to add a distinct edge to his arousal. Hannibal leaned against him, keeping his legs pinned back, Will’s cock trapped between their bellies as Hannibal’s hand slipped between his legs. 

Two fingers slipped in effortlessly, slick soaking all the way down his hand. Greedily, Will’s hole contracted around his fingers as they pushed inside, the tight, velvety heat stretching to accommodate him. Hannibal’s lips moved to his neck, leaving lines of purple bruises, making damn certain that he was marked for days after this. Hannibal savored each moan and whimper as he curled his fingers and rubbed, pressing incessantly against the sensitive little nub until the omega was writhing and squirming beneath him. 

It was almost too much, almost too torturous for him to handle as he moaned and whimpered, burying his face into the crook of his alpha’s shoulder. Even as Hannibal pressed in a third finger, it was nowhere near satisfactory. There was only one thing that was going to offer any relief. 

_“Stop, stop, out, please,”_ Will cried, begging and whining for more. “Need your knot, _please.”_

Will was never one to whimper. He was never one to beg for anything. He was strong and he was hard-headed and he was stubborn as hell, but if there was one person that could make him beg for it, it was Hannibal. 

“You want my knot?” Hannibal growled, something wild in his voice, something hungry as he worked his fingers in deeper, thrusting in at a more fervent pace. He plowed up against his prostate with every stroke, until Will was trembling and gasping for air, hardly able to breathe through the merciless onslaught. 

A whimper escaped his throat before he swallowed it back down. “Yes.” 

“You want me to breed you? Fill you with my seed?” 

_“Yes.”_

The fingers were pulled from his hole, drawing a sharp whine from the omega’s throat. The fingers were torturous and nowhere near enough, but the empty was infinitely worse. A hollow ache spread through him, desperate to be filled, desperate to be taken. He mewled as Hannibal lined himself up with his weeping rim, the bulbous head of his cock pressed up against him. 

“I’m going to stuff you so full, I’m going to put a whole litter inside of you.” 

He pushed, sliding into the hilt in one glide. 

Will let out a sharp cry, thighs trembling as slick squelched from around his alpha’s length. His vision blurred as Hannibal set a brutal pace, brushing against his prostate with every thrust against his cervix. He set out with clear intent of doing one thing and one thing alone. This wasn’t just fucking for the sake of fucking, or fucking for the sake of relief, he made that much clear. This served purpose. Hannibal was seeking out to put a baby in his belly. 

Hannibal’s nails bit into the flesh, leaving lines of pink crescent moons along his hips. The nudge of his cock against his cervix knocked the wind out of him with every thrust, leaving his mind to short-circuit and his lips to spill nothing but unrestrained moans and desperate whines. He felt delirious, brain too fogged with heat to process anything more than his desire to be fucked and filled and bred. He felt hot, and flushed, and _fertile._

“Fill me up, daddy, put a baby in me,” he moaned, voice coming out debauched and needy and pitiful, curls thrown back against the pillow. He was never so wanton, never so desperate, but there was something about impending impregnation that brought him to beg for it. “Knock me up.” 

Hannibal let out a low growl, leaning down to claim his lips again. They were words that Hannibal had been waiting to hear for a long time, and words that had been just barely constrained. He couldn’t bite them down any longer, though. 

Hannibal redoubled his efforts at the sound of his voiced desires, pinning his knees back harder against the bed, keeping his legs far above his head. He knew damn well that he would be kept in this position as long as he could stand it, and then plugged until the need took him over again, making certain that the seed took. Will whined at the thought of being plugged until he was to be fucked again, whined at the idea of how much seed would be pumped into him without relent. Part of him wondered if he would be able to take it, and another part knew that he would. 

He faintly registered it as his balls drew up tight to his body, edging nearer to orgasm as Hannibal’s knot grew thick, beginning to tug at his rim. He could vaguely make out the words of praise that fell from Hannibal’s lips in his impending orgasm, _‘yes darling_ ’s and _‘good boy_ ’s falling unrestrained and uncontrolled. 

This wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Come for me. Come for me, Will,” Hannibal murmured as he buried himself deeper, pressing his knot past his fluttering rim. His brutal thrusts slowed to a gradual ease in, careful not to hurt him in knotting him. 

Will let out a loud cry as Hannibal’s knot popped past his rim, catching as his seed filled him, the warm gush through his lower belly being what pushed him over the edge. He spasmed and came, untouched, the fluid smearing hot between their bellies. 

He collapsed boneless in the aftermath, pliant and receptive to Hannibal’s soft kisses and words of praise, a soft purr drawn from his throat. 

Hannibal slowly shifted, tugging Will’s hips further upward, letting his seed pool at his cervix. It was uncomfortable positioning, and Will wanted to whine in protest, but he allowed it anyway. Anything if it meant that they would have a child on the way once they came out of this heat.

“You did so well, Will. So proud you, _mylimasis,”_ Hannibal praised quietly. He allowed his legs to fall, allowed him to at last relax, stretching out sore muscles beneath the weight of Hannibal’s body. He sighed in sweet relief, pulling tighter to his alpha. This felt less clinical, less precise. This felt like the aftermath of love-making. “You’ll take my seed. I can feel it. I can feel it, love. It’ll take. It’s taken already. I’ve made you pregnant, Will.” 

His words were babbled almost incoherently. Hannibal Lecter, the man so prided on his composure, was now left rambling, barely coherent, too overcome with his own emotion to think clearly. Still, Will’s face flushed hot at the quiet words of praise as he felt the second wave of Hannibal’s orgasm take him over, feeling the twitching of his cock and the beating of his heart and the quiet reverberations of a moan in his chest and the fresh warmth flooding through him. He clung tightly to the older man, burying his face into his shoulder, his hazy mind losing out to his daydreams as he lay beneath his alpha.

It would undoubtedly start as small things. He’d be too tired, he’d be going to the bathroom a little more often; just those little proofs, little evidences, little signs. He’d wait for his heat, and it would never come. He’d be able to take a pregnancy test and see the two lines appear, confirming that he was pregnant, that he had a child growing inside of him. They’d go into town under false names and false identities, and they’d have an ultrasound done, and Hannibal would undoubtedly explain all of the terminology in far greater detail than any doctor. Will had no doubt in his mind that Hannibal would sleep with his head on his belly, hand curled protectively over him, even if there was no visible bump yet.

After a few weeks, once the sickness mostly subsided, he’d slowly begin to grow, the proof of their child forming just beneath his shirt. It’d start out small, hardly noticeable, but Will already knew that the moment there was any sort of proof, the moment he grew even a fraction of an inch, Hannibal would never let him keep his shirt on. Will knew how sentimental Hannibal was, and he knew that seeing his child growing beneath the surface would be… Emotional. And something that Hannibal wouldn’t miss for the world. 

Not that Will would hold many qualms with such facts. He would be enamoured with his own changing form, if for nothing more than the sake of his own curiosity. He would find himself intrigued by the growing bump, enraptured by the proof of their love growing within his belly. He would savor each kick and squirm, anxiously await the first quickenings of life within his womb. He would refuse to take such rare gifts for granted this time. 

Once Hannibal was able to feel the baby kicking and squirming, Will knew that he’d never be able to get out from beneath Hannibal’s touch. He’d keep his hands all over him, never wanting to miss a single kick or movement, no matter how small. They’d start thinking of names; Will would turn toward the simpler names, while Hannibal would undoubtedly suggest the most pretentious names imaginable. They’d go see the doctor more often, get more ultrasounds done, see the little thing that they had created together, right in this bed, right in this room, just like this. 

Then birth would eventually come, when their child was finally ready to come into the world. Like hell would Hannibal let anyone near his laboring omega, and would undoubtedly deliver the pup at home, probably right in this bed. He could already see it clearly: Hannibal soothing him through his contractions, fingers rubbing small circles into his inner thighs as he instructed him to push, doing whatever he could to comfort the omega. Will would surrender himself up to the man between his legs, succumbing to his every instruction, savoring Hannibal’s comforting words and gestures through the pain that would come. But the pain and agony would hold purpose, and their labors would be rewarded. 

Their child would come into this world crying, a sound that would hold joy and heartbreak in equal measures. Their first moments would be spent in gasping, screaming breaths, pushed into a cold and unforgiving world, with their only refuge being in the arms of their father. Hannibal would cradle them, behold this wonderful, wicked, joyously wretched little thing that they had created between them, staring down at them as though he were holding the whole world in his hands. Will would reach out with weary arms, and Hannibal would place their child against his chest in glorious apex of emotion, offering him all that he had wanted for nine months. 

Will sighed softly, nuzzling closer to his alpha. It all started here, with Hannibal’s seed taking in his womb. Hannibal’s fogged rambles held truth, and Will could feel it within him. It had taken. Hannibal Lecter had gotten him pregnant. 

“Love you, alpha.” Will yawned, curling tightly to the alpha.

Hannibal smiled, pressing a small kiss against Will’s dark curls, drenched with sweat, but he didn’t care. He cradled him close to his chest, holding him tightly, clinging to so tightly that not even the end of the world could tear them apart. May all the gods in heaven try, Hannibal would drag them all to the depths of hell before he dared let go. It was all he had ever wanted for them. Just Will, in their bed, knotted and hazy from heat and post-orgasm hormones, creating life inside of WIll’s body… This was where he was meant to be.

_“Aš tave myliu, mylimasis.”_

 

  


He heard Hannibal calling his name, felt his hand pressed against his belly, drawing him slowly from sleep, though it felt more like dragging him kicking and screaming. Waking up was harder these days, and Will couldn’t decide whether or not it was due to the potential for pregnancy or if it could more easily be attributed to Hannibal keeping him up every night. 

“It’s time, _mylimasis,”_ Hannibal said, his voice soft. Warm. He had been this way since his heat, treating him with a certain care that he hadn’t taken before. Hannibal had been kinder with him since their fall, but never quite to this extent. 

“Time?” he mumbled, burying his face deeper into the pillows, chasing the sleep that was quickly fleeing him. 

“If you are pregnant, it should show up on a pregnancy test now,” he explained, fingers pushing gently through his curls. “I would have let you sleep longer, but I fear I lost to my own impatience.” 

Will let out a low groan as he forced his eyes open, turning toward the clock that sat on the nightstand. He caught a glimpse out the window, noting that the sun was just barely rising up over the horizon before his eyes turned back toward the red numbers blinking back at him. 7:03. 

“Jesus, Han,” he groaned. “How long have you been up?” 

“I haven’t slept,” Hannibal confessed with a small, apologetic smile. “It’s been two weeks. I find myself thinking of little else. I was a bit too excited for sleep.” 

Will couldn’t bring himself to object much. The weeks passing after his heat had been agonizing, waiting to know for certain whether Hannibal’s seed had taken. Will had been decided that it had under the haze of heat, but when his head cleared as it passed, he found himself doubting. He was getting older, and it wasn’t quite so likely that he’d get pregnant on the first try. His own doubts over the whole thing had him second guessing and fearing that he’d done this too hastily, that he’d done something irreparable. But there was excitement at the idea, and wandering thoughts of what color they would paint the nursery, and what name they would choose. His mind hadn’t settled, and he needed to know for certain. 

He pulled his tired bones up off the bed, the cold hardwood floors not quite welcome against the soles of his feet. He stretched, rubbing his eyes as he yawned, making his way toward the bathroom as Hannibal rose to follow, to excited to so much as allow him out of sight. 

It wasn’t unexpected of him, exactly, though. Hannibal had followed him around everywhere these days. The moment Will had come out of his heat, Hannibal had taken to treating him with a certain amount of care, of reverence that Will hadn’t seen before. He kept him in bed longer in the mornings, if for only a few more minutes of cuddles and kisses exchanged beneath unmade covers. He made certain that Will was eating more healthily, kept him well-nourished rather than letting him eat the shit that normally ate when Hannibal wasn’t there to cook for him. He was clingier, rarely giving him much alone time, though Will couldn’t exactly bring himself to mind. When they lay in a tangled heap of arms and legs in bed after sex, knotted and tied, Hannibal’s hand never failed to rest over his belly, protecting the little cluster of cells that may or may not be growing there. 

Pheromones, maybe. Or maybe Hannibal was just too excited for his own good. Will had allowed for bad behavior, allowed him to cling as tight as he wanted without much of a word, but this is where the line had to be drawn. 

“Some new pissing kink there, Lecter?” Will said, turning to face him as he reached the door. 

Hannibal’s eyes went wide, embarrassment flashing across his face, quickly realizing what he was doing. “I just…” 

“Go sit on the bed and settle down,” Will teased, leaning forward to press a kiss against his nose, a gesture that never ceased to shut him up. “I’ll come get you as soon as I’m done, we’ll find out together, but this part needs to be done alone.” 

Hannibal sighed and obeyed, turning back toward the bed, watching anxiously as Will closed the door. 

The box of pregnancy tests sat on the counter, laid out for him so that he knew precisely where to find them. Above them stood a mirror, mounted on the wall just above the sink. His hand found the box and his eyes found himself, facing his reflection, studying himself over where he stood. 

He knew better than to breed. He had always known better than to breed, knew better than to pass on the horrors and the demons that plagued him. Such horrors were cruel to pass onto a child. Autism and too much empathy, alongside his violent predispositions, it would be cruel to birth something from such precarious circumstances. And their other father would only add to the disaster, only adding his own monstrosities to the gene pool. Whatever would be birthed from such an unholy union would undoubtedly be comparable to the devil himself. Some righteous, wretched, wicked, wonderful little thing. 

That wasn’t even mentioning Hannibal as a father, outside of the circumstances of his own twisted genetic coding. The first child that they had taken in and vowed to protect had been used as a pawn in his game, little more than a sacrificial piece in a game at chess. She had been used in a game of reward and punishment, her throat cut as a means of torture in the event of betrayal. It had taken Will a long time to convince himself to even entertain the idea - Will would trust Hannibal with his own life, but it was a matter of debate as to whether he could be trusted with the life of a child. It served as only another reason as to why this was a bad idea. 

Even still, a hand move to rest over his belly, just over the place where he would be carrying. He could hardly deny the affections that he had already developed, if for nothing more than the idea of a child growing within him. He had fallen in love with the idea of a child cradled against his chest, the idea of their child running on unsteady legs alongside their dogs, the idea of taking them down to the river to fish, the idea of Hannibal keeping them steady on his lap as he taught them to play the harpsichord. The more he allowed his imagination to run, the deeper in love he fell. 

Even still, he still held reservations close to his chest, despite the risks they'd already taken. There was no turning back from here, not after what they had already done. Even if there was still time to retreat, even if the test came back negative, Will knew damn well that they would find themselves right back here in a month. They were far too sold on the idea to turn back now.

He never thought himself suited for omegahood. Life would have suited him better had he been born an alpha like his father. Hell, he would have been content to live as a beta, without the baggage that accompanied either role. But he had never wanted to be an omega, had never filled the role quite right. Too stubborn, too independent, too snarky and sarcastic to be becoming of an omega. Hell, he didn’t even look the part. Scruffy beard and unruly curls, a little too muscled, a little too resemblant of a beta to be particularly appealing to alphas. How Hannibal had taken interest in him, he still wasn’t entirely certain. 

But it was a role that he would fill, no matter how awkwardly. He would carry his alpha’s child with pride, allow himself to submit to the changes happening within his body and womb. He would allow his very form to change and take shape to accommodate their growing child, allow them to be tucked safely just beneath his ribs. He would allow himself to be taken care of, allow himself to abandon reckless independence, if for nothing more than the sake of his child. A hand on his belly, he reached into the box and pulled out a test.

Taking the test was the easy part, though. It was the waiting that was truly agonizing. 

Will paced the floor to the beat of cracking knuckles and bitten lips, suddenly the impatient one. Hannibal sat on the bed with his sketchbook, occasionally glancing up for what Will could only assume to be reference - though he couldn’t quite figure out why he wanted to capture this moment. Perhaps it was for the sake of seeing him in a new state of unrest. Will Graham was not an impatient man, never had been. Normally, he knew how to wait things out, was content with standing silently in the stream as he waited for the fish to bite, but this… This had him itching for an answer. This was agonizing. 

He stepped past the doorway and back into the bathroom, checking for the fourth time in as many minutes. One line stood for disappointment and trying again and more impatient waiting. Two lines stood for pregnancy, life growing within his womb, and the entire set of baggage that accompanied that answer. But as he glanced down again, undecided upon which was worse, he was still met with nothing.

He turned and stepped out, slamming the door behind him, drawing Hannibal’s eyes as he flung himself onto the bed in impatient frustration. 

“I can’t look. It’s taking too long. It’s going to kill me,” he whined, rolling onto his back and clutching his chest. He was a bit melodramatic, sure, but this was important, and Will was anxious, impatient to say the least. The rest of their lives hinged on whether that test said one line or two. This could be the most important moment of their lives, and Will was too anxious, too excited, too impatient to look. “You did this. I could still be asleep right now, but you got me excited.” Excited may not have been the correct word. “Or… something.” 

Hannibal chuckled, shaking his head slightly before closing his sketchbook and turning toward Will, rolling over top of him and straddling his hips for a moment, leaning down and stealing a small kiss, the taste of his lips sweet on his tongue. He moved down, pressing a kiss against his neck, collarbone, over his chest, peppering kisses against every inch of him. He slowly tugged his shirt above his head, leaving him open and bare before leaning down to press a line of kisses down his belly, nosing at the downy hair there. Soft gestures meant to arouse and distract from the issue at hand. 

“Whatever the answer may be, it’s going to be okay, Will. If it’s positive, our child resides here, and there is nothing more beautiful,” Hannibal assured, running a thumb over his lower belly. “And if not then your heat will come in a few days, and we’ll try again then. And this time, I will be certain to fuck my litter into you.” 

Hannibal’s words sent spikes of arousal through him. Hearing him curse had always been something of a turn on anyways, and hearing him speak so filthily nearly made Will hope that his heat would come again soon. 

Hannibal’s biting lips and commanding hands demanded his attention, turning it away from his own impatience. No better way to pass the time than through distraction, and Hannibal did tend to be his best distraction. 

He couldn’t help but reflect on how much had changed since their fall. Rebirth from the sea, spat back from hell and washed ashore at the hand of Poseidon. What had once been twisted obsession and cold rage had become something more domestic, or whatever twisted version of domesticity they may have been offered. It had been years since there had been anything akin to betrayal, scars now long faded. 

They had found something peaceful here, tucked away from the rest of the world. They had assumed their roles as gods among men. They had chased away the demons and had created a life worth joyous living. Their sins and transgressions were little more than a product of man-made law, and Will’s anxieties faded as Hannibal rubbed up against him, kissing away the fear that had plagued him. Their child would feel no sting of their genetic predispositions, would feel no hell or fear. They would look upon their creation, and it would be good. 

“Why don’t you fuck your litter into me right now? Get some more practice in before my heat comes?” Will teased as Hannibal moved away from his lips, trailing kisses down his neck. 

Hannibal looked up at him with a small smile, breathing him in. Will could tell what he was doing, and knew that it wouldn’t work anyway. Still, he didn’t protest as Hannibal took in his scent, trying to detect even the first signs of pregnancy through his scent alone. Even still, Hannibal knew damn well that an omega’s scent didn’t typically begin to change until at least six or seven weeks along, and Will would have hardly been four. Will pressed a hand through his hair as he abandoned his efforts, instead propping himself up to meet his eyes. 

“We may not need anymore practice,” Hannibal teased, pecking against his lips again. “The test should be ready.” 

Will shot him a crooked smile as he watched the doctor rise to his feet, slipping into the bathroom. His heart fluttered in his chest as he sat up, propping himself against the headboard and pulling his knees into his chest. What had been nervousness ten minutes ago had quickly turned to excitement, butterflies in his stomach as he watched Hannibal reemerge, hands folded behind his back. Will watched with rapt attention, searching for an answer in his unreadable expression. 

One hand found Will’s thigh, the other holding the test just out of view. For a just a moment, Will’s heart sank, knowing what was going to come out of his mouth, fearing the worst. Though, really, what was the worst? It wasn’t as though heat was particularly unpleasant with Hannibal around. Still, there was the sink of disappointment as he resigned himself to trying again, even before he said a word. 

Then Hannibal opened his mouth.

“Did you know that, at this stage of pregnancy, the baby is only about the size of a poppy seed?” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he turned the test toward him, allowing him a look. Two pink parallel lines. Positive. 

Will’s mouth dropped open, jaw nearly hitting the floor as his eyes darted between the test and Hannibal’s eyes. He couldn’t keep the smile back, any hint of anxiety drowned beneath the unadulterated joy that came in two pink lines. He was pregnant. There was a child, _their_ child, growing inside of him at that very moment. Will reached forward, grabbing the test from Hannibal’s hands and studying it over himself, feeling the plastic in his hands, clinging to the proof of their creation. It was real. It was happening. 

“I’m… I’m… You…” he stuttered, hardly able to get out a word before bursting into a fit out laughter. 

Will had known more hell than most. His mother left, his father was hardly around. He had walked the world alone, waiting years for someone to find him, for someone to understand him, for someone whose broken pieces fit like puzzle pieces against his own. He had suffered torture, had seen death, had felt the hell’s heat burn against his flesh. But in that moment, a laugh pulled from his throat from joy, pure and entire and overwhelming, he felt whole again. He felt healed. 

Will threw his arms around the alpha, pulling him tight against him as tears of joy perked in his eyes. Hannibal curled tight around him, clinging to him as though he held the whole world pressed against his chest. Soft laughter and messy sheets and smiles wider than they had any right to be… It was life as it was meant to be lived. 

“I’m pregnant,” Will whispered, pulling his arms tighter around Hannibal’s neck. “We’re gonna be dads.”

 

  


The months passed by slowly and quickly all at once. The days began to blur together; it was hard to keep track without routines or schedules. They’d taken up false identities after the fall, taking up new jobs when they settled into their new lives. But with the announcement of his pregnancy, Will took leave from his teaching job for the sake of preserving his identity as a beta, and Hannibal had switched to taking patients over Skype. He stayed home most days, more or less at Hannibal’s request. And throughout the duration of his first trimester, it was not a difficult task. 

“For something the size of a blueberry,” Will could recall saying at somewhere around seven weeks. “This thing is making me fucking sick.” 

It had been nausea and vomiting and all things uncomfortable, to the point where he felt no desire to move from his bed, or from the bathroom floor on bad days. Hannibal’s requests for him to stay in hardly needed to be made; he didn’t want to go anywhere. 

Hannibal, though, made the whole experience a little more bearable. He stopped cooking the things that made Will queasy, cut back on the wine so that Will wasn’t forced to watch and not partake. The pregnancy diet was less than ideal, but Hannibal made it work, and it was delicious all the same. The restriction to one cup of coffee in the mornings left his head pounding at first, and while Hannibal kept a strict eye, he was benevolent in his rule, offering massages and whatever else he could to ease the pain. 

Hannibal slept differently these days. There were nights when he curled up toward the end of the bed, resting his head against Will’s belly, falling asleep with fingers tracing circles above his flesh. He would stay awake until he figured Will was asleep, but Will had caught him whispering to their baby on more than one occasion, pretending to be asleep for the sake of listening in. Words of adoration, of love beyond measure for the child that grew within his belly. There wasn’t even a bump yet, but Hannibal was already enamoured. Infatuated. In love. 

On the nights when Hannibal didn’t sleep with his head resting on his belly, his hand was undoubtedly kept there. It was kept there more often than not, had been from the beginning, even before the formation of his bump. It felt almost ridiculous, such affection reserved for this one part of him. Will couldn’t find it within himself to complain, though. 

Pregnancy placed him into a role that he had never quite fit into before, firmly establishing his role as an omega. Where he had felt hardly any connected to such an identity beyond the facets of his biology before, he could no longer so easily escape the confines of the reality. Hannibal barely let him out of his sight, and he was no longer granted the independence that he had once prided himself on. He was no simpering omega in desperate need of an alpha, but his own man before all else. 

He liked the affection that Hannibal offered. He liked way that Hannibal looked at him, liked it when he kissed his belly, liked the man that Hannibal was becoming as he prepared to enter fatherhood again. He liked the idea of a child growing inside of him, liked the idea of being a father again. 

But he didn’t like the morning sickness and he didn’t like the stripping of his independence. He didn’t like the fact that he was sleeping twelve hours a day, and he didn’t like the soreness in his chest, and he didn’t like waiting for any sign beyond the puking. He didn’t like feeling like he was simply playing host to a parasite that was quickly becoming the center of their every fucking conversation. Even when there were conversations outside of the realm of his pregnancy, he could still feel a difference in the way that Hannibal looked at him. 

Maybe he wasn’t quite so cut out for pregnancy. Maybe he wasn’t quite so cut out for omegahood. 

 

  


“And you’re joining me, okay,” Will sighed in defeat as he tugged on his overalls, the thick material enough to hide his burgeoning bump. Hannibal stood behind him, tugging on a pair of boots and clothes that did not belong to him. Old clothes that could stand to get dirty. 

“I would prefer you not go alone,” Hannibal said. It was a common phrase these days, an excuse to tag along everywhere. It was damn near obsessive how insistent he was about being around, this nearly paranoid need to protect his omega and his brood. It had been endearing at first, but the novelty had worn off. 

“I would prefer if I did.” 

He hadn’t quite expected the hurt look that he turned around to, this sad look that Hannibal rarely shot. It was one that made him melt, one that triggered some instinctual urge to fix it, to make it better. He let out a quiet sigh, turning back to sit on the bed beside him. 

“Look, I just need some space. I haven’t been out of this house by myself in months,” Will sighed, a hand finding his bump. “I don’t like being cooped up in here. And Han, I love you, but I need some time to myself.” 

Will Graham was seventeen weeks pregnant. Their baby was roughly the size of an onion, as Hannibal had informed him, and they were nearing the halfway point of his pregnancy. Three weeks left, and he would officially be halfway there. And Will had spent nearly half of his pregnancy within their four walls, more or less confined to the bed or the couch, and under the near constant supervision of his alpha. 

The second trimester was proving to be better than the first, with days when he finally felt more like himself. There was less vomiting, at least. His bump had finally started to form, and Hannibal had been what could only be described as obsessive. His doubts and frustrations were beginning to ease as the hormones leveled out and he came to accept it as his reality. The whole thing was beginning to feel a bit more real, the cluster of cells that had taken shape inside of him finally starting to feel like an actual baby whenever he thought about it. And with the easing of his symptoms came the longing for freedom.

“I worry,” Hannibal said, placing a hand on his knee. “For both of you, I worry.” 

“Second trimester, right?” Will offered, reaching for Hannibal’s hand. “Chances of a miscarriage drop way down. Bitty’s not gonna care if I go fishing by myself for a few hours.” 

Hannibal gave a damn near pitiful look, but Will stood fast in his resolve. This was something that he wanted to do alone. God knew he needed it, if only for a couple of hours. 

“You’ll keep your phone on you?” Hannibal finally sighed, opting to relent instead of putting up a fight. 

“I always do.” 

He gave a long sigh before stealing a small kiss, hand pressing against his bump from above his overalls. Will smiled against his lips, pleased to have his way for once before pulling away and rising to his feet, heading toward the door. 

“Be careful,” Hannibal called after him. 

“I always am.” 

He gathered up his equipment and left quickly, before Hannibal could change his mind and insist upon coming with him. Another peck on the lips and he was off. 

The ride was quiet, as it always was. They lived just outside of a sleepy village in Lithuania, returned again to Hannibal’s home country, if a bit further away from Castle Lecter. Will still barely spoke the language, only enough to get him by - besides, they never really interacted much with the locals anyway. It was well enough for him, though, having always preferred the middle of nowhere to anywhere else. 

As he made his way down old, familiar roads, his eyes turned toward the picture that he’d stuck to his visor. It had been from his sixteen-week ultrasound, the baby taking real shape and form at that point. The technician had offered them the choice of finding out the sex, but they had opted to wait, opted for surprise. 

The baby hardly felt real most days, little more than the idea of a parasite leeching off of his life force. Even as the nausea mostly faded, he was still left dead tired on most days. He couldn’t go on hunts with Hannibal anymore, wasn’t even allowed to partake in the act of killing when Hannibal brought them home. He couldn’t feel them moving or kicking yet, felt almost no proof of the child that was making home within his womb. All he had were the ultrasounds and the pictures, but they served as worthy reminders. 

He found familiar dirt roads down to the river, watching it flow newly thawed. It was the first of warm days this year, warm enough for him to wade into the quiet of the stream. And so he gathered his rod and his lures, and was welcomed back into the water, the current beckoning him like an old friend. 

His mind wandered as he cast his line, listening to the quiet sound of the water around him, the sound of wind through the trees. The world hadn’t felt so quiet since he’d gotten pregnant. 

There were quiet moments, sure, but none quite so peaceful. There was always the quiet apprehension, waiting for something to make an unpredicted noise. Hannibal calling for him from the kitchen, or the sound of his own vomit spilled into the toilet, or the sound of the dogs tumbling over each other as they hurried to the kitchen for much-anticipated mealtime. Here, the quiet would remain, and he felt no need to hold his shoulders taut in apprehension for the noise. 

Still, maybe the quiet wasn’t all that he had remembered. The noise wasn’t all bad, anyway. In the quiet, there were no conversations to be exchanged with Hannibal, no pretentious metaphors or conversations spent unraveling all the secrets of the universe. There was nothing to make him burst out laughing when Hannibal cracked a joke, nothing to make his cheeks flush hot with his softly spoken words of adoration. In the quiet, maybe Will decided that he missed him, if just a bit. 

“Your dad means well, you know,” Will spoke to the baby in his belly. It was a rare occurrence, having not quite connected to the little thing growing inside of him in the way that Hannibal had. But there were moments when he was alone that the words fell from his lips, moments when he made at least some attempt at bonding. “He’s worried about us. He’s pretty in love with you. Doesn’t want anything to happen.” 

One hand held tightly to the rod, the other slowly drifting back toward his belly. It was hardly a bump, easily hidden beneath strategically placed clothing still, but his hands were still drawn to it. Some protective part of him wished to cradle the life that grew in there, even if it was through layers of skin. 

“I was kinda scared going into all of this, you know,” he said, giving into some one-sided conversation with the fetus inside of him. “I mean, it was your other dad that brought it up, but he’s done some bad stuff. You have no idea. He’s killed me before. Literally killed me. Stabbed me, right above where you’re at. Gutted like a fish. My heart stopped twice before they finally brought me back, got me stable. He was a vindictive son of a bitch back then.” He stopped himself. “Guess I shouldn’t curse in front of you. Your dad definitely would not like that. But I mean, you’ve got me as a dad too. I’ll be surprised if your first word isn’t ‘fuck.’” 

He chuckled to himself at the idea of such a thing. Hannibal would be appalled, certainly. The man may not have been above cursing himself, but he tended to be too classy to do it in any sort of excessive amount. Hell, the only time he really heard Hannibal curse was during sex, usually when Will was riding him, or sucking him off, too overwhelmed by the sensation to draw anything else to his lips. Will, though, was a little more prone to filthy language. A bad habit that Hannibal vocally disapproved of from time to time. The idea of such a habit being passed down to their child, their first stumbled word being a “fuck” or a “shit,” was nothing short of fucking hilarious. 

He sighed, hand rubbing absent-minded circles against his belly, mind returning to the conversation at hand. 

“Anyway, it took me a long time to say yes because of that. I was scared of what he would do. I mean, he took away the child I had before you. He took Abigail from me, and I…” He trailed off, smothering down the tears rising in his throat. “But we’ve grown up a lot. We’ve gotten onto the same page, I think. We don’t hurt each other anymore. We’re happy. We’ve been happy for a long time now, and when I see how he looks when he looks at me when he’s thinking about you… I made a good choice, I think.” 

Will felt the line tug, his mind pulled back toward reality. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he reeled it in, feeling the most accomplished he had in months. He drew the fish in before removing the hook from its mouth and placing it on the stringer. Such familiar old routines felt new again, having gone so long without the water and the line. Or perhaps the difference came in the introduction of a new presence here. 

“I’m gonna bring you here someday,” Will said, smiling to himself as he cast the line again. “I’ll teach you how to fish as soon as you’re big enough to hold the rod, I think. We’ll bring the dogs with us, let them run around here while you and I are in the water. I think that can be our thing, just yours and mine.” 

Hannibal would have other things. Hannibal would teach them to play the harpsichord, and how to cook. Will wondered if Hannibal would one day teach them to kill, or if such violent delights would stay confined to their room in the basement. But this, this place, this could be their own, something to bond over, belonging to them and only them. 

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he murmured. 

It was with those words that Will felt the first kick. 

A small gasp escaped his lips as his hand returned to rest above his bump, the first quickening of life leaving him damn near breathless. It had been a quick thing, a mere graze against the lining of his uterus, the first jostle of movement that was not his own. For the first time, it all felt so undeniably real. There was a child growing inside of him, and she was at last saying hello. 

Will let out a small laugh was he felt her moving again, squirms and kicks just barely felt. Small reassurances, small movements felt every now and then over the course of hours, before he finally decided to head home with the setting sun. 

“I felt her kick,” was the first thing that Will could bring to his lips as Hannibal emerged around the corner as he unloaded his equipment and kill onto the kitchen counter. “Also, I caught dinner.” 

“You what?” Hannibal asked, incredulous, stunned. 

“Caught dinner,” Will said, gesturing toward the fish. 

“Not that, the first part.” 

“I can feel her kicking now. She started moving down at the river, and I can feel her moving every now and again. She’s a squirmy little thing too, I think.” 

Hannibal stopped, frozen in his tracks, eyes darting between Will’s eyes and his bump. He stood somewhere between shocked and awe, and Will found himself pleased at his ability to draw that look. Hannibal never expressed such surprise, was never one to be rendered speechless by anyone but Will. Will had always prided himself upon his ability to turn his silver tongue to lead. 

And then, in two long strides, Hannibal was across the room, claiming his lips and smiling against them, a small laugh drawn from his chest before pulling away. 

“She?” Hannibal asked, joyous tears brimming in his eyes. “You think we’re having a girl?” 

“I mean,” Will said, a small chuckle brought up from his chest. Seeing Hannibal filled with such glee was unbecoming of a man so encumbered with darkness, but Will wasn’t about to object. “I don’t know with any certainty. Just a feeling, I guess.” 

“An unparalleled intuition,” he said, smile spread wide across his lips. “You know her better than anyone.” 

There were tears brimming in Hannibal’s eyes as arms wrapped tight around his waist, clinging to him with such pure, unadulterated joy. These were the moments when it all felt worth it. The stripping of his independence, the hellish morning sickness, the exhaustion, the insecurity at his own shifting form, it was all worth it for these moments. 

He watched with rapt attention as Hannibal dropped to his knees before him, kisses pressed against his bump. He smiled, fingers pressing through Hannibal’s hair as he peppered his skin with kisses, worship and adoration in his lips. 

“Our baby girl,” he cooed softly, another kiss pressed against bare flesh as he pushed aside his flannel in attempt to get even closer. 

With those softly uttered words came a hard movement, a kick just against where Hannibal pressed his kisses. Will let out a laugh, a sound of joy escaping his throat, pure and unparalleled as she jostled inside of him, responding to the touch of her father. 

“What?” Hannibal asked, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“Do it again, do it again,” Will chuckled, hoping that he might feel her again. 

Hannibal obeyed, staring up at him with expectant eyes as he kissed the same spot, and Will was rewarded with another kick, drawing another laugh from his chest. 

“She kicks whenever you do that.” 

Hannibal’s eyes went wide again in awestruck wonder, amazed by first reciprocated interactions with their child. Even if he couldn’t feel the kicks against his palm, even if he only heard of them secondhand, Hannibal still sat in utter amazement, a smile wide as the equator. 

“Oh, my loves,” Hannibal breathed, resting his forehead against Will’s belly, arms curling around his thighs, holding him there tight. “Oh, _mano meilės.”_

 

  


“It was cute at first, but dammit, baby, I need to sleep,” Will groaned, shifting for the hundredth time that night, praying that some new position would force her to settle down. 

It was starting to feel cramped in there at 25 weeks, nearing closer to the end of his second trimester. He could feel her in there, the weight hanging low in his belly even when she wasn’t moving around. She was a squirmy thing, moving at all the inconvenient moments, and the kid seemed to be nocturnal. 

“Han,” Will said, voice grogged with exhaustion as he roused the alpha from sleep, demanding his attention. Hannibal had shifted to his other side, escaping to his corner of the bed to avoid the tossing and turning of the omega beside him. Hannibal, though, had some magic touch that Will desperately needed. His hand against his belly had come to be the one thing that could settle her down, as though the presence of her other father was enough to lull her off to sleep. “Bitty won’t settle the fuck down.” 

“Don’t swear in front of the baby,” Hannibal groaned, pulled forcefully from sleep as he rolled onto his side, pressing closer against Will. “She can hear you, you know.” 

“Fuck you,” he mumbled, dragging Hannibal’s hand around his waist to rest against his belly, waiting for her to settle as Hannibal settled in against him. 

Will, though, found himself more awake, even as the baby stopped her incessant squirming. He could feel Hannibal pressed up hard against him, the lines between where one ended and the other began growing blurred. And with such intimacy forced the realization that Hannibal was hard in his pajama bottoms, and pressed flush against his ass. 

Throughout most of the second trimester, Will had grown damn near insatiable, and even as he yearned for sleep, such small things never failed to arouse him. A soft sigh was drawn from his chest as he wriggled back against him, down against his cock, feeling it hard and leaking against his lower back. He felt Hannibal stirring behind him as he began to grind, a sleepy need for mutual pleasure. 

_“Dangiškas… gražus…”_ Hannibal sighed, burying his face into the crook of his shoulder as his hips began to thrust up against him as Will began to whine, trembling in his need. Slick began to gather, hole wettening in anticipation and desire as Hannibal pushed up against him. “Turn over for me, my love.” 

Will obeyed, turning to face him, bodies pressed tight against each other. The positioning was somewhat awkward, as it oftentimes was these days, the bump beginning to get in the way of everything. Still, they adjusted, cocks hard within the confines of cotton shorts, pressed roughly together, rubbing and necking in desperate attempt for friction. 

“Angelic, _mylimasis._ Divine. By the hands of gods,” Hannibal murmured softly. He always was the type to wax poetic for hours, even in the dead of night. “Carrying my child… I’m so proud of you, my love.”

“Shut up,” he said, his voice carrying hints of laughter as he buried his face into the crook of his neck. His words carried little weight, though, given his undeniable reaction to Hannibal’s praises. 

Such words of praise never failed to leave him trembling, damn near weeping as he pushed himself firmer against the bulge within Hannibal’s pajamas. He closed his eyes tight, fingers balling around Hannibal’s shirt as he gave tiny thrusts against him. The alpha’s hand snaked between them, massaging at the younger man’s length through the confines of his shorts, replacing the thrust of cocks with the deft skill of fingers. 

Will watched his expressions as Hannibal’s eyes darted down, admiring the wet patch that was blooming in the front of his gray boxer shorts, pre-cum flowing freely from the tip of his cock. He always did get so wet, even before the pregnancy, though the hormones seemed to only exacerbate it. Hannibal gently tugged his boxers down slightly, freeing his cock and taking it in hand, stroking him slowly, each touch determined as his thumb swept over the glans, smearing the pre-cum down the shaft as Will let out a soft moan, clinging tightly to him. 

_“Fuck,_ Han…” Will moaned as Hannibal’s strokes picked up speed, struggling to keep his head above water. Slowly, struggling to keep himself steady, Will let his hand slip between the alpha’s legs, admiring the fullness against his palm as he felt at the growing bulge in his pants. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms, tugging his cock free, feeling the heat against his palm as he lined it up against his own. Hannibal’s hands took over, stroking them together, the two of them thrusting and rutting through the tunnel of Hannibal’s hand. 

He would have preferred to watch, always fascinated in the movements. There was little more obscene than a ruddy cock, wet and straining at the tip, let alone two pressed together. But Will had an increasingly difficult time seeing over his bump, so he forced himself to be content to feel rather than watch. 

Hannibal began to set a steady, brutal pace as Will moaned beneath his touch, hands curling around his shoulders, pressing fingerprint bruises into them as he struggled to steady himself. His voice echoed through the halls of their home, rarely ever able to keep quiet. He figured it would become an issue once the baby was born, but they would find ways around it. His imagination turned toward binds and gags designed to keep him quiet, of Hannibal plowing into him with a hand clamped down over his mouth… 

_“Please make me come,”_ Will begged, voice coming out in a wrecked whine. He was so rarely reduced to such begging, so rarely so willing to abandon his dignity, but if there was anyone who could do it, it was Hannibal. “So close, so close, Hannibal, _please.”_

“Come for me, Will,” Hannibal said, his voice coming out in command, and Will was helpless but to obey. 

His seed spilled hot over Hannibal’s fist, against his cock, spurting hot and white as his cock twitched within Hannibal’s tight grasp. His orgasm was blinding, vision blurred white around the edges as he threw his head back in ecstasy, Hannibal’s name falling unrestrained from his tongue. 

Hannibal’s orgasm followed suit, knotting in his hand. It was a rare occurrence when Hannibal knotted anywhere but his hole, but as he came hot and thick against Will’s belly, he couldn’t bring himself to complain about the mess. 

They would sleep in it until morning, when Hannibal would drag him to the shower before changing the sheets. But there was something feral that remained within Hannibal, some primal desire to scent and mark that which belonged to him. Hannibal had already been catching whiffs of his own scent ingrained within Will’s flesh, the scent of his seed taken root within his womb and growing with their child. It had brought him great pleasure to be able to smell himself intertwined with Will’s scent in this unholy union of theirs. And with that great pleasure, Will would sleep in the mess that they had made and let the scent settle in his skin. 

Hannibal gently cupped Will’s quiescent cock in his hand before tucking it back into his boxers, leaving him as he was before, if slightly more disheveled. Will lay quiet as Hannibal’s knot deflated, watching the semen coat his thighs, the lower part of his belly, the sheets. Such a mess to be left, and yet, Will couldn’t find the motivation to get up and do anything about it. 

They collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs, the lines blurring between where one ended and the other began. Will leaned into Hannibal’s touch, burying his face into his chest, listening to the sound of his lungs, to the beating of his heart… This was where he was meant to be. His head slowly began to clear as Hannibal brushed his clean hand through his curls, the other around his knot, falling back toward the abyss of sleep until morning. 

He was nearly there when Will felt her kick. Hard. 

“God fucking dammit,” Will grumbled, and he half expected Hannibal to chastise his profanities. Instead, though, there was stunned silence as Hannibal’s eyes went wide, glancing down between them. 

“Will,” he finally breathed, his name sounding like the only thing that had ever tumbled from his lips, reverent as a prayer. “Will, I felt her. I felt her move.” 

Will cocked an eyebrow, coaxed back toward full consciousness. Hannibal had been waiting expectantly since the beginning of the pregnancy for the moment when he would be able to feel her move himself. For weeks, Will had been able to feel her jostle and kick within him, but never strong enough to be felt by the outside world, Hannibal being left to listen about her movements rather than see them, or feel them. But now… 

Hannibal’s arms wrapped tight around him, clinging to him for dear life, such remarkable joy drawn up from his chest as a small laugh pulled past his lips. Will could feel the tears wet his neck, falling hot against the mating scar that marked his throat. Always one for tears and grand gestures, always more emotional than he ever would have let on to anyone except for him. Dramatic bitch, he was. 

“She just kicked, Han,” Will chuckled. “It’s not that big of a deal.” 

“I felt her move, Will,” Hannibal said, joyous tears brimming in his eyes, as though such small things could shake the very foundations of the earth. “My child, moving against the palm of my hand.” Hannibal pressed a hand through his curls, eyes brimming with tears of unadulterated joy. “I can think of nothing more wonderful.” 

Will rolled his eyes, a smile etched over his lips as he turned over onto his back, inviting Hannibal to lay against him, allowing him to sleep against his belly for the night. He had done it damn near every night toward the beginning of his pregnancy, but as he began to swell and grow, it got more and more uncomfortable to stay in one position through the night. Now, though, he supposed he could make the exception. 

Hannibal smiled up at him, and took his place in the mess, fingers caressing over his flesh as Will fell back into the silent abyss, into easy, dreamless sleep. 

 

  


His fingers did not grasp too tightly, nor press too firmly, etching gently against the paper, sketch coming to life before him. 

His sketch was mere reflection of reality, as most were these days. There were moments that he wanted to capture in paper and graphite, moments that he did not want to forget, moments that he refused to allow age and decay. This was one of them. 

It was a simple moment, nothing particularly remarkable in it. Will was halfway through his third trimester, with only a month left before their child was due to make her entrance into the world. He handled the transition into the third trimester with less grace than he had handled the transition into the second, oftentimes finding complaint in anything. The ache in his back, the inconvenience of his bump, the sharpening ferocity of their squirming child’s kicks. The experience was hardly pleasant, and Will was hardly pleased. 

Still, there were moments such as these. Moments in quiet, moments when the pregnancy felt as though it were nothing more than another part of life, to be basked in and savored. There had been a collection of those moments gathered within the memory palace, some sketched onto paper to be kept. There were moments when Hannibal caught Will whispering through his own chrysalis to speak to her, conversations held between father and daughter. There had been the moment that Will had begun lactating, moments of pure ecstasy as Hannibal pleasured him before swallowing him down, consuming him in ways he hadn’t thought of before as the warmth of his milk settled in his belly. There were days when Will felt well enough to go down to the river - not to fish, but to watch the water go by from the banks. There were times spent beneath covers, discussing baby names before deciding that they would know when they met her. 

And then there was this moment. 

There were plenty of moments like this one, though rarely one so serene. There were rarely moments to be taken in quite so fully, a moment that Hannibal would wander back to for years to come, until the foundations of his memory palace began to crumble. Even still, this moment could survive the decomposition of his mind, could survive the worms that would devour him from the confines of a shallow grave, could survive through the very fires of Pompeii. 

Will had tossed and turned the night before, as he oftentimes did. Not even the strategic placement of his hand could settle down their baby anymore, growing restless as she grew cramped within the confines of her father’s womb. Will rarely slept for more than a few hours at a time, and in the moments of sweet relief, he collapsed wherever he could. 

Today it was the couch in the library, asleep on his back with hands cradled gently against his belly. His hands rested there often, as though to protect her, as though to hold her in whatever way he could. Hannibal had caught him from the corner of his eye on plenty of occasions, absentmindedly tracing circles against his belly whenever something reminded him of the life that he carried. 

Will had come into his role of omega and father beautifully, rocky as it had been to start. Even as the discomfort returned again, he handled it with as much grace as could be expected. The heaviness carried in his front seemed a lighter weight with the contentment that accompanied such glorious burden. He carried himself with a certain pride that he had not known before, joyously proud to be carrying his alpha’s child. The nightmares that had haunted him for decades occurred less frequently, waking to the kicks of their child as opposed to the demons that haunted his dreams. He smiled more often, and for no reason at all, such pleasant little grins pulling softly at the corners of his mouth. It was beautiful. 

Hannibal took great joy in watching Will’s transformation over the course of years. A man frightened of the demons that lurked within his mind, to a man filled with the wrath of heaven and righteous indignation, to a man so righteous and reckless that he would burn the whole world down, to a man finding beauty in the blood beneath the moonlight. And now he lay content, domestic, heavy and pregnant with his alpha’s brood, taking his role so naturally. Hannibal found himself mesmerized by such magnificent transformation. 

They had fallen so deeply in love with the child that he carried. It was love unspeakable, love unshakable, such insurmountable adoration for this wonderful, wretched, beautiful thing that they had created together. For so long, they had known only bloodshed and fire, beauty to be forged within the ashes of their destruction. Never had they thought what beauty they could forge from creation until this child had taken form within his womb. 

Hannibal smiled, etching the last wisps of hair. It was the one thing that he could never get quite right, such unruly curls refusing to be constrained by mediums such as paper and graphite. 

He settled on some less than perfect recreation, closing the sketch pad and moving it aside. There were better things to do than to try and recreate life on paper. There were moments that could only be captured in their entirety in the corridors of his memory, and he wanted to remember this. 

 

  


Will went into labor three days past his due date. 

There had been plenty of complaining in those three days, aching for have their child out of his body and into his arms, laid against his chest. He was uncomfortable, sore, sick of waiting. Joyous as few moments were, he was sick of being pregnant. 

The start of his labor was neither sudden nor prolonged. It simply wasn’t until it was, a sharp contraction and a gush of water drawing him from sleep. He woke to wet sheets and a moment of confusion before realizing where the water had come from. 

Hannibal hadn’t been in bed, already up and about, as he always was. Will could smell breakfast cooking from the bedroom, and some absent part of him cursed himself for going into labor before he’d gotten the chance to eat. 

He pulled himself upright to inspect the damage. His boxers were soaked through and clinging to his thighs, and he kicked them off quickly, already knowing the drill. Hannibal had walked him through the birth plan a hundred times before. He would go into labor, and Hannibal would lay out the towels on the bed where their child had been conceived. Hannibal would care for him throughout the process, coach him through each step of labor and delivery. He would coach him to push, and he would catch their child as she was expelled from his womb and brought into the world. 

It would be well and truly beautiful. 

But first, there would be pain to go through. Hellfire would rain down upon him as he fulfilled the demands of his biology, body turned inside out to bring their child into the world. And he would let her tear him apart, force him to rip and bleed for her sake, and he would take it with joyous grace. Every contraction, every labored breath, every crowning push would be worth it in the end. 

“Good morning, baby,” Will whispered, a small chuckle drawn from his throat, even as the pain wracked his bones. “Are you finally going to come out today? Is that why you were such a pain in the ass last night?” 

He smiled to himself. If there was one thing that he figured he would miss about being pregnant, it was this. Conversations held between father and daughter at all times, her constant presence within him. Once she was brought into the world, there would be separation, pulled apart screaming and crying. There would be those to try and pull her away from him, take her from his arms. 

_Let them try,_ he decided. 

He would hold her tight against his chest and burn the whole world down before anyone tried to take her away. He would protect her with his bare hands, tear apart anyone who dared touch her limb from limb. Perhaps she would no longer be safely tucked beneath his ribs, but he would finally get to hold her in his arms, these conversations no longer so one-sided. She would coo and babble in response, laugh when her dads were being silly, cry whenever she wanted to be held. She would be there against his chest, to be held and cherished until the end of days. 

“Alright, bitty,” he said, determined. “Let’s get you out.” 

Will shifted as another contraction tightened through his midriff, pain spreading through him as he gripped to the sheets, struggling to steady himself. He forced himself to focus on his breathing, breaths counted in the way that Hannibal had taught him to until the pain eased off. 

_“Hannibal,”_ he called, voice carrying down the hallways of their home. His voice came out unsteady, accompanied by shaky, nervous, inexplicable laughter. “Baby’s coming!” 

There was a moment of pause, silence through the household, and Will could practically see him. A moment frozen to process his words, standing blankly as he came to realize just what was happening. And then, a moment later, he sprung into action, footsteps slamming across hardwood before swinging the door open and collapsing at his side. 

One hand found itself laced between Will’s fingers, the other resting gently against his belly. His words fell incoherent and unrestrained, mumbling mostly to himself, switching between English and Lithuanian as his eyes found Will’s. 

“It’s time?” Hannibal uttered, finally speaking coherently enough for Will to follow. 

“It’s time,” Will laughed, such utter glee in this knowledge. Forty weeks and three days had passed since she had been conceived, and Will was ready to finally meet her. “It’s time, she’s ready to go.” 

Hannibal smiled, this rare, wide grin that was so rarely shown. His eyes swept up and down Will’s body in quick inspection, catching on the soaked sheets beneath him. 

“Your water broke,” Hannibal said, stating the obvious in his mesmerization. 

He nodded hard, thumb tracing circles over Hannibal’s hand. “My water broke.” He let out a shuddered breath as another cramp seized him, though not quite so hard this time. Hannibal’s hand squeezed tight, watching with concern and rapt attention as Will breathed through it. Even still, a small smile found his lips as the pain eased off. “We’re… We’re gonna have a baby.” 

Hannibal claimed his lips with tears brimming in his eyes, joyous in what was about to happen. He allowed himself only a moment before pulling away, though. There were things that had to be done. 

“I need to check your dilation,” Hannibal had said, and Will allowed him, even as his cheeks flushed hot. It wasn’t as though Hannibal hadn’t touched him there before, but rarely with such clinical precision. These were touches of a physician, not of a lover, and Will felt his face growing hot in his humiliation as Hannibal’s probing fingers grazed against his cervix. “Somewhere around a centimeter. That’s good. You’ve already begun dilation, and if we’re lucky, this could mean a short labor.” 

He’d said it with such optimism, and Will clung to that optimism until it proved to be bullshit. 

Hours passed in gruelling labor, each contraction growing stronger with the ticking of the clock. He wanted to push, wanted to feel the progress being made rather than just sitting to revel in the pain. He wanted to feel her shift, wanted to feel her make her way down the birth canal, wanted to do anything that offered some sense of progress being made. 

“Can we push yet?” Will practically begged as they closed in on the third hour of labor. 

“Not yet, _mylimasis,”_ Hannibal said, hands massaging down his thighs, soothing his trembling muscles. “You’re three centimeters dilated, we’ve some time yet.” 

He let out a pathetic mewl, frustrated in the wait. 

“You can do this, Will,” Hannibal murmured, lips pressing gently against his thigh. “Your body is preparing itself for birth, preparing to deliver our child into the world. You’re doing so well.” 

Will replied only with a sigh and a nod, holding himself together for the time being. 

Three more hours passed in agonizing wait, and Will struggled to find the grace in him to take it. He swore with every contraction, and for the first time in months, Hannibal didn’t chastise him for it. Instead, he took his place next to him in the bed, stroking down his curls and soothing him through the pain, assuring him that it would all be over soon. He had made it to six centimeters, he could make it through four more. 

Hannibal toggled between physician and alpha effortlessly, seamlessly, checking his dilation and vitals every now and then, assuring him that he was doing wonderfully. Utterances of pride were whispered against his ear, and even through the pain and agony, Will was happy to offer up such painful offering. 

He leaned against Hannibal’s shoulder as a particularly painful contraction released its grip on him, hands resting on his belly, massaging gently downward, hoping to coax her into position. Hannibal’s arms curled around him, lips pressing down on sweat-damp curls. 

“Have you ever delivered a baby?” Will asked softly, breathing in his scent as he steadied himself. Their conversations were few and far between, short when they happened, Will hardly able to focus on much other than the pain. Even as it eased off, he found himself mostly too tired to speak, and figured it wise to conserve his energy. But he found himself curious enough to draw the words to his tongue. 

“Once, yes,” Hannibal said, voice soft as his fingers joined Will’s, massaging lightly at his belly in hopes of speeding things up, if only a bit. “I was still in medical school at the time, working at the hospital on an internship. One of the nurses thought that I was a doctor and she pulled me into the room, dragged me to the foot of the bed of a laboring omega who was already ten centimeters dilated. Before I could even register what was happening, I was delivering a baby boy.” 

“And it went well?” 

“It went perfectly.” 

Will managed a small smile, weak as he felt. The contractions were coming closer together now, and he could feel the next one threatening to seize him. He reached for Hannibal’s hand, grabbing hard and clinging tightly as the pain wracked his body again, a sharp hiss of pain escaping from between his teeth. 

“I never considered the possibility of children until you, Will,” Hannibal continued, his voice guiding him from the agony and giving him something to cling to. “But one thing that I considered as I delivered that child was how beautiful the experience might have been as an alpha. To deliver the child from the womb, to hold it through its first cries of life. To share such intimacies with a doctor, with a stranger, was none that I would have ever considered. I have given you a child, Will, and this is a gift that you will give unto me. This child is ours, created between us, and even through the pain… It’s beautiful, Will.” He drew Will’s hand to his lips as the contraction ended and his body relaxed, slumping against him. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Of course you would think so,” Will spat as he struggled to catch his breath. “You get off on this sort of thing. You’re a goddamn serial killer, for fuck’s sake.” 

Hannibal gave a small chuckle, thumb tracing over the creases in his knuckles. “I may be a sadist, my love, but it is rarely of a sexual nature. And I do not revel in torturing my victims. You know I prefer my meat to have not died frightened.” He drew Will’s hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss into his palm. “I derive no pleasure from seeing you in such pain. But it is agony with a purpose. This is not destruction, my dear Will. This is creation.” 

Will let out a soft sigh and leaned against him. They had found beauty in blood and fire and glorious destruction. But by their blood and sweat, they would create something all the more glorious, and all the more magnificent. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

Will clung to such sentiments with all that was in him, though he quickly found it difficult to find the beauty in such blinding agony. Another hour passed before the pain became too much. The dogs were whining at the door, scratching to get in, fearing for their master’s safety. The noise of his own screams and the whining of the dogs and the pounding in his ears all came to a head in agonizing apex. 

“How much longer?” Will’s voice couldn’t rise above a whisper as the pain released its grasp, throat raw and lit on fire from the screaming. Tears stained down his cheeks as he threw his head against the pillows, struggling for breath. 

“You’re in the transition phase of labor, _mylimasis,”_ Hannibal explained, wiping off his hand as he took his place on the bed next to Will, grasping to his hand, allowing him to squeeze tight enough to break bones through his next contraction. “It tends to be the most painful of them, the most painful part of labor just short of the crowning. Thus far, your cervix has been dilating and effacing. Now, your body is preparing to push her through the birth canal, and birth her into the world.” Hannibal’s fingers reached down to press against Will’s swollen, taut belly, tracing circles against the flesh. “You’re at eight centimeters, Will. She’ll be here soon. You’re doing so well, my love.” 

“Soon,” Will breathed. 

He squeezed tight to Hannibal’s hand as the pain came hot and fast again, another scream ripped from his throat. He drew strength from the word and held it hard against his chest, clinging to it through the pain. 

‘Soon’ was defined by another hour before Hannibal rose up from between his legs with a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“It’s time, Will,” Hannibal finally announced, a hand stroking up and down his inner thigh before pressing a small kiss there, just above his knee. “Ten centimeters, you’re ready to push.” 

Some new burst of energy lit up in him as he positioned himself again, reaching down to take his alpha’s hand. Hannibal held tightly, offering the strength desperately needed to get through it. 

“Push with your next contraction, Will,” Hannibal instructed softly, coaxing his thighs further apart. 

Will gulped down hard, waited until the pain came again, and pushed. 

The pressure was blinding, but there was a definitive shift. He could feel her move, feel her descend, at least feel the progress alongside the pain. He let out a sharp gasp for air before pushing again, desperate for the feeling of movement again as he grew dizzy. 

He trembled and shook as the contraction eased, adjusting to the shift in pressure against his pelvis. His chest heaved in desperate attempt to draw the air back into his lungs, vision blurring as his eyes turned toward the heavens above him. 

“Don’t go inside, Will,” Hannibal said, echoing words murmured so many years before. Will felt him reach down into the floor beside him before drawing up a wet rag, still pink with blood after having soaked in a bowl of warm water. Blood and fluid stained the towels beneath him, stained the flesh of his thighs. Softly, though, Hannibal wiped it away, the warmth welcome relief to his aching thighs. “You’ll want to retreat, draw back from the pain. I need you to focus your energy, take your pain and embrace it. Stay with me.” 

“Where else would I go?” 

The next contraction came, and he gathered what was left of his energy, focusing in the push. He felt another solid movement, crying out in pain as she slid down further. His focus kept on Hannibal, his voice carrying softly above the slamming of his heart within his ribcage, keeping him firmly grounded to the earth. He followed his voice and instruction, and stayed. 

It came in waves of pain and relief, exhaustion and hyperfocus. Hannibal’s hand remained the constant, tethering him to the earth to keep him from drowning in his pain. His hand stood as a reminder of what they were pressing toward, what was to come. With as much grace as he could muster, he took the pain and pushed. 

The pain, though, only grew like fire, and the relief no longer felt like such. Tears burned in his eyes, flowing unrestrained, even as the taut swell of his abdomen released and the contraction eased off. It burned like fire, and there was no hope for escaping it. 

“I can’t do it,” Will whimpered. “I can’t, I can’t.” 

“Will,” Hannibal said, his name uttered like a prayer. Hannibal guided his hand down between his legs, coaxing him toward the source of his pain. “Feel.” 

He felt hair. 

He felt the sting and burn and ache, but beneath his fingers, he felt hair. Lots of it, too, soft and warm and wet against his fingertips. The first brush of fingers against his child, the first touch that she would know as she entered the world. 

“Oh, god,” Will breathed as Hannibal guided his hand away, holding it tightly, capturing his tear-filled gaze and holding it. “Oh, she’s…” 

“Two more pushes, Will,” Hannibal assured. “Two more, and she’ll be out. You can do this, my love.” 

Will gulped down hard, and nodded. 

The next contraction came, and he gave another push, with all his might. With it came release as her head slid out, offering sweet relief for a single moment before Will bore down again, the rest of her sliding out into Hannibal’s hands. 

There was a screaming cry as the breath was sucked into her lungs, cradled within the hands of her father. It was messy, and it was bloody, but they had seen worse. Will sat up as far as he could manage as Hannibal placed her into his arms, offering up this rare gift to be held against his chest. 

She cried for only a moment before quieting, only offering a few weak noises as she settled against his chest, soft noises as she relaxed, cradled in her father’s arms. Tears flowed unrestrained as he held her. All that he had been waiting for came to this, in glorious apex of emotion. She was here, finally here. 

Even as weak as he was, as dizzy as he felt, he registered her blue eyes looking back at him. Blue eyes that looked like his, wide and unfocused, her first moments of life spent looking up at him. 

Once, Will had regarded the blood and fire of Francis Dolarhyde’s death the most beautiful thing that he had ever witnessed. The destruction wrought at their fingertips, from their blades and their teeth, beauty painted in bloodstained stone, it had been beautiful. But the only thing more beautiful than such righteous destruction was this. Such glorious creation. 

She was beautiful. 

“She has your curls,” Hannibal murmured, crawling up into the bed beside him. Will’s eyes went between the child in his arms and Hannibal as he cleaned her off and wrapped them both up in a blanket. She would be clothed and swaddled soon, and the umbilical cord would still have to be cut. But for the moment, Hannibal allowed him to hold her, to behold the fruits of their labor and to see that it was good. “What’s her name going to be?” 

“Abigail,” he breathed. 

Hannibal froze, staring down at him, lips slightly parted, staring down in something akin to shock. They rarely spoke of Abigail, of what had been done to her, and Hannibal had assumed that he would never earn Will’s forgiveness for what he had done to her. And yet, he uttered her name, the child that they had created together named after their surrogate daughter. “Will,” he breathed, uncertain of how to answer. 

“It’s okay, Hannibal,” Will said, blessed assurance on his tongue as his eyes returned again to her. “I know. I know. But… She… Her name is Abigail, Han. It just is.” 

Hannibal nodded, a small smile finding his lips as his arms curled around Will’s shoulders. He pressed a kiss against his omega’s temple, a finger twirling gently through the tuft of curls that sat atop Abigail’s head. She had Will’s hair, and his eyes, and Hannibal’s nose. She made soft noises, quiet gurgles and coos drawn from her lips as Will gently rocked her. In all days, Hannibal had seen nothing so beautiful. 

“Oh, my loves,” Hannibal breathed. “Oh, _mano meilės.”_

 

  


He made no attempt of capturing this moment in paper. 

It was a moment that he would remember throughout eternity. Even as his body returned to dust, even as the earth was inevitably engulfed by the sun, even as they were returned to the stuff that made up the stars in the very sky, this moment would linger on into eternity. There were some moments designed to be infinite, to ring out and stretch on through the void, to linger throughout all the moments of space and time. This simply happened to be one of them. 

They rarely got much sleep these days, with Abigail demanding their every moment. Even when she did sleep, the two were typically still awake, dictated into consciousness for the sake of watching her as she slept. 

It had been their lives now for three weeks and four days. Nearly a month had passed since her birth, and they savored every single day. Neither had known such appreciation for the present moment until she came into their lives. Neither had known such appreciation, such adoration, such unadulterated love. Such feelings had only ever been rivaled by their love toward one another. Two great loves unparalleled by any other known in the world, love so tremendous that it could not be transcribed into words, love so great that the pen and the paper could not contain it. 

It was beautiful. 

Hannibal had never thought himself capable of the creation of such beauty. He forged beauty in bloodshed and destruction, shaped it within mutilation. But as the little creature that lay against Will’s chest slept, as he followed the rise and fall of her chest, he found himself mesmerized by their acts of creation. Such commonplace acts of procreation suddenly made him feel more godlike than he ever had before. No longer some wrathful god to slaughter the pigs beneath him, but a benevolent one, creating something more beautiful than all the angels and all the heavens. 

He sat watching, even as sleep tempted him, even as it beckoned to him, but he didn’t dare miss such a moment. 

There were plenty of moments like this one, though rarely ones so serene. There were rarely moments to be taken in quite so fully, a moment that Hannibal would wander back to for years to come, until the foundations of his memory palace began to crumble. Even still, this moment could survive the decomposition of his mind, could survive the worms that would devour him from the confines of a shallow grave, could survive through the very fires of Pompeii. 

He had brought her to the couch in the library and had fallen asleep with her sprawled over his chest. His hands cradled her tightly, holding her as though he held the entire world in his hands. 

Hannibal smiled, and rose from his chair to take his place on the floor beside them, leaning against the couch, forehead pressed against Will’s shoulder. This was all that he had imagined, all that he had longed for when he first broached the subject all those years ago. Even throughout the rocky patches, even throughout the rough beginnings and the times of doubt, Hannibal had never quite lost hope for the chance to have all this right here. Such easy peace, such easy domesticity. Such wondrous happy endings. 

Who knew that omegahood would fit Will Graham so nicely…

**Author's Note:**

> And the A/B/O king is back at it again. Always back on my bullshit.


End file.
